The hardest thing to do is forget
by operagal
Summary: The melancholy life of a genius. A poem that explores Erik's life: past, present, and future. Based mostly on Kay's novel, with an ending from Leroux.


the hardest thing to do is forget

my past

this music, a genius that goads me to share  
this face, a curse that forces me to hide  
my shame  
taught by a mother's revulsion  
denied the one gift I asked  
a kiss  
from a mother with love  
denied  
in this home, too close to the dangers  
that I brought  
she hated me  
but it was not my fault  
my fault  
and so I fled  
this face  
catching the perverted lust of others like me  
not like me  
caged, like a beast, this beast that I spurn  
the audience hushed, curtains drawn aside  
my voice  
it captures them, cleaves their minds to me  
accepted, admired, adored  
then my mask is amputated  
and I learn to trust  
that I can trust no one  
a fine lessen never heeded  
and so I fled  
it must be god's great humour that I should love  
beauty, as I do  
my weakness, in all things  
thus, devotion to perfection led me  
alone, as always  
to work with stone  
drawing plans and hauling marble  
creating majesty  
yet always without  
filling holes with concrete, yet leaving my own  
gaping hole, empty  
empty  
until I stumbled, and collided with another  
he was my friend  
for a time  
but curiosity at last snagged his senses, I should have anticipated  
betrayal  
cornered, he accosted me  
assured he meant no harm  
yet harming me beyond assurance  
my mask  
always the unhappy prelude  
to an ending, with it torn from my face  
exposed  
his daughter died  
it was not my fault  
my fault  
satisfaction is bought through knowledge  
yet knowledge does not buy satisfaction  
and so I fled  
this time, without strategy  
chancing upon another, an officer, with need  
his need, for me to follow  
and I do  
to Prussia, to the Vizier  
as a trinket, a bauble  
a magician, with an apparent reputation  
capturing their curiosity, temporarily satiating their acquisitiveness  
I performed  
again, as always  
yet now with fearful respect  
they watched, offering applause  
and more  
a concubine, a woman, for my own satiation  
who denied me  
wept, as I fought to understand  
my lack of understanding  
she was killed the next day  
but it was not my fault  
my fault  
I had enemies,  
crushed glass in wine, retching blood  
beckoning desperately for death  
yet I received no fulfillment  
I lived  
with the unwelcome help of the officer  
who had saved me  
from the only thing that could have saved me  
my reputation withered  
and I was sentenced to death  
a happy twist  
at once, denied  
the officer, fighting to complete his task  
fashioned a corpse void of history, yet bearing my borrowed mask  
becoming my escape  
and so I fled, with a nod and a promise  
to the only thing worse than the past

my present

this music, offering me the protection of its sound, of its power  
this face, barring me from the first person I've ever loved  
with abundant time to reflect, I have learned  
only one thing about myself  
I am sadistic  
relentlessly, I hope for acceptance, for the love always denied  
and each time, without fail, I am rejected  
yet I persist  
close my eyes, ready for the next wound  
that will never be as deep  
as that which I now suffer  
she was beautiful  
is beautiful  
as if she knows my flaw and hopes to exploit it  
I found her in the chapel, only three levels above  
the dungeons in which I live  
in which I die, each day  
I visited her there  
hiding in the shadows  
knowing somehow, yet too enraptured to reflect  
that she would kill me  
by bringing me to life  
yet not knowing that I would do the same to her  
It was absurdly simple  
we both should have seen  
the fatal flaw  
she needed the love  
lost  
from the death of her father, and dearest friend  
And I, upon reflection, sought the love  
denied  
from the weakness and utter cruelty of a mother  
the stage was set  
yet one vital component was missing  
an angel  
promised in the final throes of his sickness  
by her fever-burdened father  
a story made for a child  
and a child made by this story  
never able to move on  
she lived and grew up  
in quiet shame and sadness  
wondering why her promised angel, her last gift  
had forgotten her  
what could I do  
what else could I do  
but lie  
her angel of music  
a joke, quite simply  
yet how simply I employed this farce  
I became her angel  
teaching her through a prying mirror  
watching her  
always watching  
allowing my eyes to caress  
what my hands never would  
I gave her my music  
the passion that she lacked  
the trust she sought  
and love  
I gave her my love  
the first mistake of many  
for I was not alone in my worship  
oh no  
there was another who knelt at her shrine  
with a face  
a normal, noble, handsome  
face  
and a future  
how could I compete  
and would she want me to  
I could not hide forever  
so I took her with me  
down into my dungeon, into my bleak solitude  
I touched her hand  
she met my eyes  
as if I was normal  
she looked at me  
as if she didn't see the mask  
as if she didn't care  
I loved her completely then  
and knew I'd die for it  
what gall, what audacity I had  
to bring her down there  
to trust her to look, but not touch  
however if necessary  
to touch, but not destroy  
it was folly  
when she tore my mask away  
the first time  
when she sold my trust to quench her greedy curiosity  
the dream, the beautiful fantasy  
in which we both had been floating  
was shattered  
the earth shook  
or perhaps just my perception  
and I learned  
to hate her  
how dare she rob me  
while distracting me with her touch  
how dare  
she rape my feelings, quash my hope  
expose my vulnerability  
for now she knew  
I was not human  
for how can a man  
lack a nose  
an upper lip  
have his flesh be sallow and thin  
pulled tightly over a misshapen skull  
and still be called  
a man  
I have learned enough in my years  
to know that he  
cannot  
we looked at each other  
and both held our breath  
she saw me truly for the first time  
no longer veiled with a mask  
and I saw her truly as well  
no longer veiled with innocence  
and in that small breath of time  
her angel vanished  
as did my muse  
I brought her back above  
into her own world  
and so I fled  
at once, to my dungeons  
to weep  
and curse my naivety  
and my loneliness  
yet I still loved her  
and, woe to me, still longed to trust her  
until the kiss  
that rooftop surveillance nearly cost me my sanity  
how their lips seemed to fit  
as he took her in his arms  
as if by right  
as if his handsome face awarded him  
the happiness  
I could never have  
she humoured me in my presence  
and betrayed me in my absence  
but why should it be otherwise  
who am I, what am I  
compared to him  
I hated him, and wanted him dead  
but it was not my fault  
my fault  
nor, was it hers  
being beautiful, she loved another  
and he, being handsome, loved her back  
but I would not accede  
blinded by love, I fought for her  
yet while fighting for her, I was blind  
allowing myself to be drawn  
from the safety of my dungeons  
in constant search of her whereabouts  
I hungered to know  
though the pain of knowledge would sting  
and at last, I knew what I wanted  
from her  
she would choose  
I sought to end my suffering  
by demanding this of her  
my pain only increased in her absence  
for I had given her a day  
to choose  
and she chose, in the end  
the end  
of my fantasy  
of my life  
she left then, holding tight to his hand  
and my heart  
taking my gondola  
and my hope  
to somewhere I could not follow  
she would be free  
of me  
of this abhorrent face and this perverse dream  
for what else, truly, had I expected  
I am a grotesque, mutilated, fetid semblance of a man  
of a thing  
what else could I expect  
except death  
that warm, welcoming embrace  
I was denied  
years ago, cannot be again revoked in

my future

this music, has died, and will not help to carry the pain  
this face, that I loathe, is all I have left at the end  
of this opera  
that no one has cared to divulge  
had I known  
perhaps I'd have shielded my heart  
from this torment  
yet the promise of bliss,  
of love  
so long denied  
kept me enslaved, bound to do all for her  
to sacrifice all  
but what has it bought  
my agony  
what has it purchased  
an end  
to this comedy  
and I've proved the fool  
by attempting to turn it to  
romance  
what a dunce, what an ass I am  
and in the end  
I see it all too clearly  
all too late  
yet I would still give all  
give everything  
to see her  
one last time  
with no ill intent, but only to look on her  
and say goodbye  
she never said goodbye  
perhaps I frightened her away  
I never meant her harm, would never have dared to hurt her  
she knew this  
must have known this  
for I loved her  
this she knew  
and at a time, I thought foolishly  
that I saw her love  
stare back at me, through her divine eyes  
what joy, what bliss  
to feel this returning love  
yet it was my imagination, in the end  
for she loved him  
as she proved, by leaving me  
alone  
again, as always  
but not in complete misery  
for I can feel, along with the bittersweet irony  
that my heart is failing  
this can easily be attributed to age  
my timeline's getting short  
yet I prefer the more poetic cause  
that my heart is broken  
this seems more proper  
it hurts to breathe, to drink, to eat  
to sing  
I no longer compose  
what is left for me  
without my music or my muse  
what have I to live for  
yet I have plenty for to die  
strangely, so close to the smell of soil from my grave  
I blame no one  
not my mother for hating me, for it was not her fault  
in the end  
not the traveling freak show, for they could not help their greed  
in the end  
not Giovanni, the old man whom I loved, but was betrayed by, it was not his fault  
in the end  
not the officer in Prussia, for his only concern was my safety  
in the end  
and, no  
not even her, not even  
Christine  
for she was beautiful, and fate smiles on beauty  
she could not help  
hating me  
it was not her fault  
in the end  
no matter  
this is all in the past, in my past  
which will soon be forgotten forever  
I go now, I can feel it  
my heart, it starts to tremble  
down my arm  
I'm cold, and yet sweaty  
and pain  
oh, the pain  
and so I flee  
at last, where I am welcome  
at last, where I am free  
and it is bliss


End file.
